


Edge of Seventeen

by ventormenta (julads)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julads/pseuds/ventormenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khadgar heads to Karazhan seeking knowledge, finds disco fever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a mash-up of [Khadgar's Harbringers short](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UW5IYrgOgYU) and the [One Night in Karazhan trailer](https://youtu.be/qlHx7YNWYGY), as inspired by [madeinhellism's post](http://madeinhellism.tumblr.com/post/148145498982/party-whats-burning-legion-hard) and [vyragosa's lovely artwork](http://vyragosa.tumblr.com/post/148217165624/third-time-is-a-charm).
> 
> This is the first fic I've written of them, and I'm not sure how well I'm writing old man Khadgar, but I feel that no matter his age, Medivh would always be able to draw out his cute flailing side, heh.
> 
> One final note: the mood in this hops all over the place from jokey to sad to just plain cheesy. But porn is porn, right?

What Khadgar saw inside Karazhan shocked him: the foyer was lit up in a purple haze, and at the foot of the stairs, there was a handful of people dressed in sparkly attire. Wildly, he wondered how these intruders got past the tower’s defenses, but when he closed his eyes and focused, he perceived that the defense system was still very much in place. So then how—

“Hey! Buddy!” someone barked in his ear, making him leap back and grip Atiesh.

There, to his left, was a goblin standing atop a podium. She was wearing in a low-cut, glittery dress, and her hair was – well, it was something. “Name?” she said, smacking her clipboard.

He almost answered her but, gathering his wits, he demanded, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Who am _I!?_ ” She shoved a fat green finger in his face and asked, “Who are _you?!_ ”

“Khadgar,” he replied, steely.

Unamused, she retorted, “Ah-huh, sure, bub. Listen, if you’re gonna try to sneak in by disguising yourself as the host’s husband, you better make sure you look like him and not” —she gesticulated all over him—“some crusty old man!”

“Excuse me, _what?_ ”

“ _I said_ your disguise sucks!”

Frowning, he demanded, “Who’s hosting this party?”

“The Magus Medivh, ya ding dong!” she exclaimed. “Cripes, the people I gotta deal with!”

By now, Khadgar’s head was swimming. “You mean to tell me that Medivh’s here, and that he and I are _married_ _?_ ”

She groaned hugely and threw her hands up. Then, perhaps realizing he was sincere, she cocked her head and squinted at him. “Are you _really_ Khadgar?”

“Yes,” Khadgar said as empathically as possible. “Look. I wield Atiesh.” He waved the Greatstaff of the Guardian around. “I was Medivh’s apprentice.”

The goblin sighed, grimacing. Then she looked past Khadgar and said, “Anora, keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”

Khadgar spun around and saw this “Anora” person, who was clad entirely in metallic lilac plate and holding a polearm upright. The helm had a narrow T-shaped slit on the front, and from behind it, Khadgar could see the unmistakable green glow of fel-tainted eyes.

The eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, but he couldn’t make himself look away. What was this, an alternate timeline? Had this Khadgar not yet discovered that Medivh opened the Dark Portal?

But what struck Khadgar the most was that he and Medivh were apparently married in this universe. It was baffling, confounding. How? Had he been Medivh’s apprentice here, too?

Before he could think through any more of this, Khadgar saw him sweeping down the steps, looking younger and more vibrant than he had ever known him: Medivh’s hair was thick and silky, not a hint of gray in sight; his robes were a deep crimson, clinging to his chest tightly and rippling from his trim waist down to the floor in long, velvety swathes; and his face, so young and without lines worry, was rife with tenderness as he stepped forward, his arms outstretched. Medivh pulled Khadgar into a tight embrace, and Khadgar found himself melting into it, drunk on the affection he once craved so much. In his heart, the dusts of sorrow for his Magus kicked up like leaves in the wind, and he buried his face in Medivh’s shoulder and clung to him, holding on tighter as he remembered everything that happened in the sick inversion of the tower. He reached up and put his hand on Medivh’s neck and sighed deeply. The warmth of the older wizard’s body melted the weight of the world on Khadgar’s shoulders, and the waves of the Great Sea washed over his back, whispering the old and illusory belief that Azeroth was safe in the hands of a Guardian.

In the end, it was Medivh who pulled away. He touched Khadgar’s face and said, “You look terrible.”

“The Burning Legion has returned,” Khadgar informed him.

“Indeed they have!” Medivh said, flashing a brilliant smile. “Kil’jaeden even brought a lovely ice sculpture! Oh, come in, come in. It’s not every night I get to entertain transdimensional versions of you.”

Medivh’s eyes were shining smartly, and Khadgar, weakened by them, had barely managed to utter the word “alright” before Medivh had grabbed his hand and was dragging him up to the Grand Ballroom, where things were even crazier: awash in flamboyant colors, the place was packed with Draenei and dwarves, goblins and gnomes, night elves and naga, all of them dressed in strange, colorful clothing. The way they were dancing was also odd, although it did seem to suit the flashy aesthetic of the clothing: loud and forceful, the movements seemed like a mix of dancing and gymnastics and powerful stretching. The music itself was boisterous and animated, and the beat pulsed through the tower’s walls, remarkably in-tune with its magic. Then, to top everything off, there was a great sparkling orb hanging from the ceiling, twinkling as it rotated languidly. The entire scene was wholly absurd, not to mention decently tacky. It was more than enough to make one’s head spin, and then when Khadgar saw a brick-red eredar with her arm slung around a troll, the two of them laughing their heads off, his brain simply short-circuited.

Demons. In Karazhan. As party guests.

True, Medivh had said as much, but seeing it with his own eyes made it realer, more shocking and more preposterous. It was so senseless as to give one a migraine, and the more Khadgar tried to comprehend it, the less sense it made. This pushed the definition of “alternate universe” to its very breaking point.

They continued weaving through the crowd, Medivh waving and smiling at those who called out to him. This, at least, was familiar: this was Medivh’s “on” mode, wherein he would charm the pants off of people, smiling dashingly and telling brilliant jokes, his face plastered with smug confidence the whole time. It was a fascinating thing to watch, all the more so when one considered how starkly this contrasted with his dark and brooding mode, when he would bark at anything that crossed his path.

Only when Medivh greeted an Arrakoa and _just slightly_ jumbled up the word “Terrokar” did Khadgar realize, belatedly, that he was drunk. The fact was heartbreaking, in a way, for it solidified even further that this Medivh was real enough to _be_ inebriated – he was no echo, no specter, no legend skirting the confines of reality, a warning then, a symbol now. No, Medivh’s hand was hot, slightly sweaty, and very real as he pulled Khadgar through the throngs of partygoers, gripping his hand like a mother would her child’s in a busy market square. Khadgar didn’t know where they were headed, but he would have let Medivh take him anywhere.

Ultimately, though, Medivh only went as far as the next hallway, wherein he let go of Khadgar’s hand and snatched two purple drinks off the tray of a passing server, his azure nails sparkling as he grasped the glass stems. He handed Khadgar one, who could do nothing but accept it, and then leaned over, propping his arm up against the wall and letting his eyes talk as his lips ghosted over the edge of his glass.

Trying to stay collected, Khadgar said, “Why do you have demons here?”

“Because I invited them, of course.”

“Yes, but _why?_ ”

Staring at Khadgar blandly, Medivh retorted, “Must I chronicle the long history of my friendships with members of the Legion, or can you simply _trust_ me when I say that in my world, demons bring only good will and camaraderie and fabulous hostess gifts?”

“But that makes no sense! They’re demons, Medivh, _demons!”_

“I imagine little of my world makes sense to you,” Medivh quipped sourly. He drank from his glass then, and that was when Khadgar got a good look at the ring on his finger, a fat red ruby bedded in diamonds on a yellow gold band.

Khadgar asked, “Is that a wedding ring?”

“Fifteen years this October,” Medivh said, displaying his hand and letting it hang there, idly.

“How old are you?”

“Oh, that’s rude,” Medivh said with false affront. Then he put his arm back up on the wall and, saucily, shot the question back at Khadgar: “How old are _you?_ ”

“I’m, ah, forty-six – no, forty-seven. I’m forty-seven now.”

“Did you have a birthday recently?”

“No,” Khadgar admitted, his face blazing now.

Medivh laughed, loud and hard, and patted Khadgar on the shoulder. He kept his hand there. “That’s alright – we all forget things,” he said, and Khadgar thought of the many times Medivh had forgotten he was even his assistant, his heart sinking with nostalgia and then bleeding for it when Medivh asked him what Medivh was up to in Khadgar’s own universe.

“Oh, he’s… around. Looking out for us, you know.”

“You aren’t together?” Medivh asked him. “Romantically, I mean.”

“Um, no. No, we weren’t. Ha. Ha, ha, ha…” Khadgar said, continuing to laugh awkwardly. He took a sip of the drink to shut himself up and ended up downing the whole thing without really tasting it.

“Never?” Medivh probed.

“No,” Khadgar answered, and when he looked up at Medivh, he saw his eyes were sparkling like a serpent’s, closing in on him.

Then Medivh tugged on Khadgar’s collar and asked, “Then what’s this all about?”

Khadgar was sweating. “What’s what all about?”

“This,” Medivh said, toying with the buckle. “Don’t tell me it’s just decoration.”

“But it is – it’s part of the armor,” Khadgar said. “Why? What else would it be?”

The most devious smirk yet curled across Medivh’s lips. “You put collars on pets,” he said. “To keep track of them. To signify that they’re owned.”

Khadgar looked away then, half-wanting to storm off. Medivh had such a way of disarming him! “It’s just the design,” he muttered.

“Mmhmm,” Medivh said, eyes shining teasingly, like he didn’t buy it. Then, seriously, he asked, “In that case, what _is_ the nature of our relationship in your universe? Please, enlighten me.”

“I was your apprentice,” Khadgar replied. “Your only apprentice.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

“Well… you were strict, and you pushed me hard, but you never belittled me – you believed in me, and that was something I’d never really had before,” Khadgar said, then added, “You made me the person I am today.”

The flirtatious deviance vanished from Medivh’s face, and then, his cheer dampened, he stated, “So, in your world, I was your teacher and – presumably for that reason – I refrained from seducing you.” His lips pressed into a thin frown, he squinted at Khadgar’s collar as if he were expecting it to cough up some real answers and was therefore annoyed by its silence. Then he suddenly pepped up again, which was so characteristic as to be damning, and exclaimed, “So you’ve never had sex with me!”

“That, ah, that… would be correct, yes,” came Khadgar’s frazzled response.

“But surely not for lack of want,” Medivh stated. “Surely only because your good teacher resisted taking advantage of his darling apprentice.”

“Um, perhaps. Perhaps that was why. I – I really couldn’t say one way or another,” Khadgar said, looking at anything but Medivh, which, inadvertently, turned out to be a nearby male Draenei’s thick behind (why??).

“But you wanted to,” Medivh said, speaking with conviction, and this drew Khadgar’s eyes right back to him. He was right; it was true, and oh, how Khadgar wanted to. How many nights had he spent in his room in this tower, lying on his stomach with an erection and a comment like, _“You did well today, Young Trust,”_ burning through his brain? Every night, he gave in, every single night, even when he _hadn’t_ done well. On those nights, his recollections of Medivh’s praises were salves to soothe his frustrations, undeserved but so needed, and he would feel guilty in a different way once he came. Then he’d lick the come off his fingers, telling himself, as usual, that it was nothing but a clean-up measure, though he knew he was always pretending it was the master mage’s. He was telling himself a lot of lies about this sort of thing back then, and it all caught up with him on lonely, lonely Draenor. Under those red skies, grief eclipsed shame a thousand times over, and remembering his days at Karazhan was like clawing through an infected wound: the further he went down, the more it hurt. Those boyish fantasies, so innocent in hindsight, were the nail in the coffin into which he had placed his master’s skin and skull.

He had loved him, terribly.

But Medivh was here now, in this bizarrely harmonious universe, and though he wasn’t Khadgar’s Medivh – he was another Khadgar’s Medivh – he was Medivh nonetheless: always a step ahead, so knowing and brazen, so ruthlessly captivating.

And of course, he was right that Khadgar had wanted him then, as Khadgar wanted him now. Three decades later, in this lively tower, Khadgar could admit it openly: “I did. I do.”

Medivh lowered his head and grinned in that clever, self-assured way, the smirk of a man who knew too well the machinery of the universe – or perhaps just Khadgar, in every universe. “Then let’s go,” he said airily, breathing the words into Khadgar’s ear.

Out of habit and instinct and a thousand more complicated feelings, Khadgar followed the whirl of red velvet down the hall.

* * *

As they climbed the stairs, Khadgar felt the need to ask, “But what about the party? Is it alright for you to leave?”

Medivh laughed and said, “Ahh, are you saying you wish for me to go back down and entertain guests?”

“No, no, I’m not saying that,” Khadgar said, his face hot and his heart struck when Medivh shot him a look over his shoulder.

“Khadgar will take care of it,” Medivh said, and it took Khadgar a moment to realize Medivh meant the other Khadgar – his Khadgar. “That is, unless he’s off doing the same as me, in which case, oh well.”

“What do you mean, the same as you?”

“Hooking up with someone,” Medivh answered simply.

Oh. Yes, of course – that was all this was to this Medivh: hooking up. And though Khadgar watched the Magus climb the steps with sprightliness he knew so well, he had to look at the hair without gray so as to remind himself that this was not the Medivh under whom he had studied, whom he had looked up to, whom he had killed. This was not his Medivh. So then why was Khadgar going along with this? Was it not equally cheap of him to do so, when this Medivh was only a stand-in for Khadgar’s secret duress, a stranger onto whom he was thrusting three decades of heartache? But even as he considered these things, Khadgar continued to climb the endless stairwell, imagining Medivh’s long limbs sprawled across that bed fit for a god. Khadgar didn’t know what else would happen up there, but he hoped Medivh wouldn’t put him on the spot and expect anything elaborate of him. Then again, that was exactly the sort of thing Medivh would do, and, well, Khadgar would say yes, because of course he would.

Under Khadgar’s fingers, the banister, convex and well-polished, felt the same as always; and outside, through the narrow windows, The White Lady was bright and full, a familiar light in the violet night. The sounds of the party grew more distant with each step they took, soon whisking into a vague and forgettable pulse that could have been anything, the growl of far-off thunder or the low hum of the earth.

By the time they reached Medivh’s chambers, Khadgar’s breathlessness masked the silence he had been holding.

“You’re not too worn out now, are you?” Medivh asked, teasingly, as he lit a few candles.

“Oh, no,” Khadgar said quickly, eyes fixed on the small of Medivh’s back, “I’ll be alright, just need to catch my breath.”

His back still turned to Khadgar, Medivh said, “I know you’re not forty-seven.”

With a long sigh, Khadgar said, “I may not look it, but I am.”

Medivh turned around and regarded him. “You’ve had a hard life then.”

Khadgar struggled to answer this without opening himself up for questioning. Ultimately, he said, “Yes, I suppose so.”

There was a moment of silence then, during which Khadgar looked at the bed and began to worry. Maybe this was a bad idea. He stood there, torn between what he wanted and what he wasn’t saying, between what he’d had and what he’d lost, and as Medivh came back towards him, stepping genteelly on pointed slippers, Khadgar was at a loss for any excuse or escape – Medivh pressed his whole body up against him, his erection on Khadgar’s thigh a key, his mouth on his ear a wax seal.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Medivh purred, his breath hot, almost wet.

“Oh!” came Khadgar’s startled response, and he stumbled backwards, sandwiched now between the door and Medivh, who continued pawing at him. “I – well, ha… ha, ha, ha… Um…” 

Medivh pulled back to look at him. His eyes were a dark verdant, locked on target. He was breathing hard, his mouth wet and open, a corner turned up cattishly.

It occurred to Khadgar that Medivh was still waiting for an answer. “I’ve never… done that,” he admitted, feeling like he might combust – the shame was insurmountable, the feeling of uncertainty intolerable.

“Oh? You’re a bottom?” Medivh asked. It was a serious, almost mundane question, and Khadgar guffawed, half-thinking Medivh was playing him here, that any minute he’d start snickering and say, _“Oh, please, I_ know _they didn’t teach you any of this in Dalaran. That’s why you’re lucky you have me. Now, if you want to properly fuck a man, the first thing you have to do is ______. Then you have to ______, but be careful that you don’t ______ and end up ______ all over the place.”_

But, no, Medivh was serious. So, swallowing, Khadgar confessed, “I haven’t done that, either.”

Suspiciously, almost bitterly, Medivh asked, “Have you ever even been with a man?”

“Well, yes, just not… all the way.” He covered his face with his hands then, absolutely mortified and unable to look at Medivh anymore, who he could hear chortling.

But then Medivh’s laughter softened, its edges laced with something like pity. He removed Khadgar’s hands and touched his face, looking at him so gently that it was like a needle – Khadgar burst, grabbing Medivh and clinging to him, feeling like he was seventeen years old again, stumbling and stupid and desperate as tears and tattered words rolled out of him: “I miss you so much,” he blathered into Medivh’s solid neck, moaning and crumpling further when he felt Medivh’s arms wrap around him, petting his back. “I-I – I wanted you so badly then. I still do, ooh, Medivh, I’m so sorry, I wish there’d been another way. I didn’t want to, but I had to, I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’ve been through a lot, it seems,” Medivh said, so softly it was crushing. “So let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

Medivh kissed the top of his head, and then, in bed, his mouth. Khadgar’s head spun, a mess of hot and aching thoughts raveling and unraveling and netting him in. He was so aware of so much: the throb of his cock, the smoothness of Medivh’s legs, and the weight of the other man’s body on top of his, a deep comfort that did not exist in his reality. But here, there was heat and sweat and the slickness of saliva, wetness and hot air like the depths of the jungle, and then all of that was all around his cock, as Medivh did half a dozen things with his mouth. Khadgar could only lie there, whimpering into his hands while Medivh dug his nails into his hips and devoured him.

Then, suddenly and with a wet pop, Medivh unleashed him, and Khadgar felt like he’d slipped off the edge of the world, tumbling into the depths of the Twisting Nether, until—

Medivh surged up and curled up behind him, catching him with his body. It was short-lived, though: a moment later, Medivh was sending Khadgar toppling all over again when he sunk a hand down between his cheeks and pressed two firm fingertips over a place Khadgar had never been touched by anyone else. It was tremendous, and Khadgar bit his lip and lurched, needing it.

“Ooh, I know,” Medivh cooed, half teasing, half soothing as he pressed those two dry fingertips hard against Khadgar’s hole. “You want my cock in you, poor thing.”

The image that flashed across Khadgar’s mind was not Medivh’s cock as he had seen it minutes ago, long and upright upon a bed of straight black hairs, nor how it might look right now, pressed taut against him; but the memory of it from thirty years ago, peeking out innocently from beneath the hem of a silk nightgown. Khadgar, his arms full of letters, had stared at the soft pink head for minutes until Medivh made a small sound in his sleep, at which point Khadgar, terrified and aroused, pulled the blankets up to cover the Lord Magus. After that, Khadgar had a visual, and he’d used it alright. So yes, of course he wanted the real thing, for the love of the arcane, he did, and the admission, honest and disheveled and begging, poured from his mouth desperately: “I do, I do, I want it, please, Medivh, please.”

“Alright, alright,” Medivh said, squeezing Khadgar’s ass before muttering a few words – a spell, one to move and levitate items. There was the sound of a drawer opening, and then when Khadgar peered over his shoulder, he saw Medivh pouring the thick and shiny contents of a tall crystal vial into his palm. At once, he turned back around, his heart and his head and his cock thundering. The storm erupted when Medivh returned to him and wove those fingers, slick now, back to where they had been a moment ago, humming as he did so.

Then Medivh sunk a fingertip in – just a fingertip – and Khadgar was whining, shocked at the sound himself, at the fact that he was pressing down on Medivh’s finger, trying to get more in.

Medivh snickered and actually pulled his finger out, which was cruel, and Khadgar sobbed, nearly in tears from the teasing – Medivh _would_ do this, of course he would, and though Khadgar couldn’t say he was surprised, he really couldn’t tolerate it, and so he begged, pleading, continuing to do so even as Medivh obliged him with one, then two, then three fingers.

“You’re so needy,” Medivh said, the words oozing over Khadgar’s back as he moved his long fingers in and out with confidence, rubbing on the inside.

“I know, sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Medivh said, legitimately chastising him, and Khadgar was about to apologize again when Medivh said, “You need to be fucked. I understand. I said I was going to take care of you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Khadgar agreed, grateful and breathless as he stared down at the splatters of his precum that had darkened the sheets in places. More was pooling from the head of his still-hard cock, and his balls were in agony.

Behind him, he could hear the lecherously slick sound of Medivh jerking his cock, and Khadgar rolled onto his back, compelled to watch. Medivh was kneeling, and his long fingers were masterfully kneading his cock, coating it in the thick gel. If Khadgar’s mouth hadn’t been parched, he would’ve been drooling: he wanted to bow down and worship that dick, and though he was hardly about to stop what was happening now, he also really regretted not putting it in his mouth.

Medivh moved between his legs then, propping them up as he scooted forward. The arrangement was strange and embarrassing, but Khadgar was boneless, clay in Medivh’s hands, allowing himself to be moved and molded and shaped into something new. The head of Medivh’s cock pressed against his entrance, and though Khadgar wanted it, all of it, fast, Medivh pushed in slowly, as if despite all the teasing, he understood the process as delicate, or perhaps just Khadgar as such: he seemed more honest now as he touched him softly, in silence. When he was in all the way, his eyes flickered upwards, and there was only transparency in them, their secrets revealed to Khadgar far less tragically in this world.

Khadgar wrapped his arms around Medivh’s neck and breathed him in, squeezing around him as he remembered those green eyes looking up from porridge at breakfast, or looking over a letter before tossing it aside. For so long, Khadgar had wanted inside those eyes, and although now he was as close to Medivh as he could ever physically be, it wasn’t enough, not really – in every thrust he met, his heart hurt a little more, and as he got close, throttled forward by thin fingers he really had known, the weight of longing pummeled him as much as the physical. He shook and sobbed throughout it, emptied and then filled.

After that, it was only breathing, the quick pull of sleep, and the inevitable disconnect.

* * *

The bed was cold when Khadgar woke up, but he wasn’t alone: a willowy blue specter was lying next to him, propped up on his elbow and wearing a huge shit-eating grin.

“So how was the party?” Medivh asked.

Khadgar could only gape at him as the events of last night snapped into place. “You – you engineered that whole thing, didn’t you!”

“What are you saying, Khadgar? That I opened up a portal to another dimension? Because that doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“That’s not funny!” Khadgar protested. But he had to admit: “Well, okay, maybe it’s a _little_ funny. Terrible, but funny.” Then, sighing, he said, “Medivh, I came here to seek knowledge, not to… dance the night away.”

“Yeah, you really got down last night,” Medivh commented. “He’s got some smooth moves, eh? You, not so much, but it looked like you were having fun at least.”

Khadgar gasped. “You were watching!”

“Of course I was,” Medivh said. “So how was it?”

“Um.” Khadgar swallowed, not looking at him. “It was… Well, it was _good,_ ” he mumbled. “Just…”

“What?”

“It wasn’t you,” Khadgar admitted.

Medivh was silent, serious now. His eyes, grave, were an ethereal bluish green, a ghostly distortion of their true color. “Pain shapes us,” he said, moving a hand to touch Khadgar’s hair. “That Medivh hasn’t endured much of it, but then, he hasn’t caused much of it, either. So you’re right. He’s not me. But he is truly himself, and he gets to live for himself. He’s a happy person living in a happy world.”

Medivh’s regret was palpable in the cool air of the room.

“My only hope,” Khadgar began, “is that one day, this world will be, too.”

A hint of a smile on his face, Medivh reached behind him and grabbed something – Atiesh. He handed the staff to Khadgar. “Then make it so.”

With the might of the world, he would.


End file.
